There’s this indiscribable emptiness I feel when classes break at the end of the quarter.
After a year of classes – 10 credits that demand far more than 10 hours a week each quarter – I no longer know how to be productive with time. Time is a luxury I crave during my coursework. I never seem to have enough, never budget what I do have correctly, and never finish.
My grades are mediocre at best, crappy when juxtaposed with those of yesteryear. I have ambitions, but I’m not ambitious anymore. The contradiction. The hypocrisy.
I envy the drive my daughter shows. She carts her sketchbook everywhere. She draws with every free moment. And as a result, she grows her skills daily. I think i once was like that with something.
And now, when I hold Cam, he feels foreign in my hands. He no longer knows my desires, doesn’t share my vision. We’ve become distant, and that divide is growing.
I’m counting days until I’m stressed with assignments. I’m dreading being shown again that this course of study isn’t natural – that I have to work twice as hard to be half as good as my classmates. I’m in between the dream and reality.